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• American Life in Poetry: Column 289 | 10.05.10

  1804 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 There’s only so much we can do to better ourselves, and once we’ve done what we can, it still may not have been enough. Here’s a poem by Michelle Y. Burke, who lives in N.Y., in which a man who does everything right doesn’t quite do everything right. Nocturne A man

• American Life in Poetry: Column 307 | 02.08.11

  3443 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 I like this poem by 97-year-old Lois Beebe Hayna of Colorado for the way it captures restrained speech. The speaker spends most of her words in describing a season, but behind the changes of spring another significant change is suggested. Brief Eden For part of one strange year we lived in a

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  American Life in Poetry: Column 283 | 08.24.10

  2247 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 I’ve read dozens of poems written about the events of September 11, 2001, but this one by Tony Gloeggler of New York City is the only one I’ve seen that addresses the good fortune of a survivor. Five Years Later My brother was on his way to a dental appointment when the second

• American Life in Poetry: Column 319 | 05.03.11

  7204 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 Here’s a poem in which eight-year-old Ava Schicke, who lives in Omaha, Nebraska, tells us just who she is and what she thinks. I am I am a daughter and a sister. I wonder when I will die. I hear the warm weather coming. I see stars in the day. I want to learn my

• American Life in Poetry: Column 281 | 08.10.10

  1229 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 Anton Chekhov, the master of the short story, was able to see whole worlds within the interactions of simple Russian peasants, and in this little poem by Leo Dangel, who grew up in rural South Dakota, something similar happens. One September Afternoon Home from town the two of them sit looking over what

• American Life in Poetry: Column 320 | 05.12.11

  7392 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 When I was a little boy, the fear of polio hung over my summers, keeping me away from the swimming pool. Atomic energy was then in its infancy. It had defeated Japan and seemed to be America’s friend. Jehanne Dubrow, who lives and teaches in Maryland, is much younger

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  American Life in Poetry: Column 282 | 08.17.10

  1263 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 Because I’m a senior citizen I’m easily attracted by poems about my brothers and sisters meandering into their golden years. Here’s a poem by Edward Hirsch, who lives in New York, that offers our younger readers a look at what’s to come. Early Sunday Morning I used to mock my father

• American Life in Poetry: Column 314 | 03.30.11

  2151 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 Maybe you have to be a poet to get away with sniffing the paws of a dog, and I have sniffed the paws of all of mine, which almost always smell like hayfields in sunlight. Here Jane Varley, who lives in Ohio, offers us a touching last moment with

• American Life in Poetry: Column 313 | 03.22.11

  3092 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 Go for a walk and part of whatever you walk through rides back on your socks. Here Peter Everwine, a California poet, tells us about the seeds that stick to us, in all their beauty and variety. Back from the Fields Until nightfall my son ran in the fields, looking for God

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  American Life in Poetry: Column 304 | 01.18.11

  2837 readersby Ted Kooser, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006 After my mother died, one of the most difficult tasks for my sister and me was to take the clothes she’d made for herself to a thrift shop. In this poem, Frannie Lindsay, a Massachusetts poet, remembers a similar experience. The Thrift Shop Dresses I slid the white louvers shut so